


[DISCONTINUED] Burning Hoenn

by meteorfalls



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-03-08 09:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18891520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meteorfalls/pseuds/meteorfalls
Summary: DISCONTINUED.





	1. Chapter 1

Anyone can agree that walking home from taekwondo and having your hometown set on fire isn’t the best way to start an evening.

Now, Brendan isn’t one to whine that much, but as he steps off of the sidewalk and onto one of the many roads in Littleroot, he can’t help but drop his duffel bag, mouth gaping open as the flames consume the home in front of him. Holy crap, _holy crap_! Good God, what happened? Is May okay? Thank God his own parents are in Petalburg right now. 

Eyes whipping to and fro, Brendan forgets about his stupid bag and bolts, his feet a blur as he reaches the flaming Birch family’s home. He doesn’t need to pound on the front door, it’s already busted open; that alone sends a million kajillion red alarms blaring in his head, his senses dialed to eleven as he storms to the ablazed kitchen.

“May? _May_!” he yells out, his voice hoarse as he dashes away from the kitchen and towards the living room. “May, please…”

The smoke penetrates his lungs viciously, clawing away and burning at his insides. Eyes stingy and breathing ragged, Brendan leans over, spilling out a spew of coughs and gags. He remains like this for a few moments, his entire body trembling in a fight to even stay alive at this point. But finally, he lifts himself back up and pushes onward, feet slamming against the blackened wood as he hurdles back out of the house. Eyes bloodshot and head banging like a drum, he sprints to the next possible location where his friend can be: Professor Birch’s lab.

This time, the door isn’t open. Slamming himself into it full force, Brendan at first cringes, his shoulder stinging from the weight of the impact. Then, he adjusts himself, and pounds his fist against the metal door as loud as he can manage, knuckles turning red.

“May!” he cries out, his voice shrill and drowned out by the blare of numerous fire trucks.

Stiffening at the sound of footsteps from behind, Brendan inhales sharply, turning around to reveal a pink-haired woman cloaked in a strange red and black uniform. Next to her stands a combusken and a torchic, with malice gleaming in the combusken’s eyes so brightly, it almost outshines the beady innocence of the torchic’s own. It dawns on Brendan almost immediately about what exactly he’s facing: pokémon. Even if he’s seventeen, he doesn’t have one of his own, per his father’s parenting style. So...how in God’s name is he supposed to fight if they attack? Gulping, Brendan presses his back against the door, fists raised as his eyes fall onto the knife-sharp set of talons. He can throw a punch, his black belt isn’t for nothing, but against an animal? It’s like a magikarp going against a persian, there’s no way he’s going to make it out of this a-okay.

“Combusken, slash this kid out of our way!” the woman orders, and the pokémon does so in a flash, claws ripping into the flesh on Brendan’s leg.

Letting out a cry of pain, the teen adamantly refuses to fight back, wincing as the burning sensation of a fresh wound crawls up his skin. The combusken darts backwards, fire forming in its beak as it readies an ember, however a quick spray of water sends it barreling away. Shoulders heaving up and down, Brendan throws his stare onto the newcomer, his entire frame trembling like a mini-earthquake. 

“Hey, Brendan,” May merrily chirps, stepping in beside her friend, almost as if the world is perfectly okay. “Need some help?”

With that, her little mudkip—Damien—hops in front of the two, his feet kneading against the soft summer grass beneath him. The pink-haired criminal ahead of them scoffs, her head snapping towards the torchic.

“Torchic, ember them!” she demands, pointing at both Brendan and May.

On instinct, Brendan steps in front of May, trying his best to ignore the screaming wound on his leg. But the torchic doesn’t do anything, just stand there politely, her beak gaping open as she gawks up at her trainer. The combusken caws impatiently, the talons on his feet tearing at the grass as his own trainer grows more impatient.

“Torchic, _now_!” But the torchic doesn’t move, and so, the criminal kicks the little chick out of the way. Brendan’s stomach churns as she briskly turns to her combusken, rolling her shoulders. “Fine, then; you’re not important, anyways. Combusken, flamethrower.”

At first, Brendan sorta accepted this as the end. What can one do against a flamethrower from some angry, evil fire chicken, anyways? But then, as the fire-and-fighting type charges up the column of flames, May throws her arms around Brendan and flings the two out of the way by just a few centimeters. The door to the Birch lab melts under the intense heat and, without her torchic, the criminal dashes inside. Grunting, Brendan tries to rush to his feet to pursue her, but May roughly tugs onto his arm, keeping him near.

“Brendan, you’re great, but are you an idiot?” she hisses, helping her friend to his feet. “We need to leave, not fight some woman and her chicken.”

Leaning into his friend’s arms, Brendan deeply exhales, his eyes growing stingy again as the flames dancing around the town grow closer and closer to the lab. The screeching sound of police, ambulance and fire fighting sirens infiltrate his ears, his head all dizzy and sore from the smoke and noise. Beneath him, he feels the gentle touch of Damien brushing against him, cooing some indescribable, toned out noise. Clinging tightly onto her arm, he allows his friend to escort him away to the nearest ambulance.

What happens next is a blur for him, honestly. A mishmash of shapes and colors checking in on him, making sure is lungs are okay, that the wound isn’t infected, things like that. In his time in that ambulance, being escorted to the Rustboro Hospital, he only hears tidbits of information of what happened to the rest of Littleroot. Apparently there were multiple criminals, under one organization: Team Magma; the criminals have managed to escape without a single cop catching even one. That alone makes his stomach burn, a fiery pit boiling inside. When Brendan becomes a police officer, he knows for a fact he’s going to make all of them pay.

But for now, he isn’t a cop, he’s just some seventeen-year-old sitting in a stiff hospital bed. Blinking, his fingers twitch absentmindedly against the firm mattress beneath him. The tests have all went by in a blur and, after a crap ton of naps, stitching, and what feels like centuries of staring at a blank wall, he’s finally allowed to go home; he just has to wait on the doctor to tell him his ride’s here. Folding his hands into his lap, he stares down at the pearly white hospital blanket, his mind going elsewhere. It’s been...at least a day or two, he thinks, since the...incident. Two days without being in Littleroot, two days of not knowing whether or not May is around, two days of his parents not contacting him. He knows they’re busy, anyways—his dad is a gym leader and his mom is a trainer for the gym—but it still stings, somehow more so than the stitches on his leg. They’re just busy, right? Right—they have to be. Maybe they’re saving all of their questions for when they pick him up, which should be any minute now.

The door swings open and, for a minute, Brendan forgets what he’s been waiting for. Eyes landing on the nurse, he straightens his posture, only to relax when May follows the nurse into the room. 

“May? What are you doing here?” he asks, eyebrows knitting together as the nurse helps him out of the bed.

“Me and my parents are picking you up, duh!” she states matter-of-factly, waving what Brendan presumes to be Damien’s pokéball around in her hand. In her other, she holds a plastic bag full of a change of clothes. “We got a lot to tell you, so hurry up.”

After about five minutes of a final checkup from the nurse, Brendan is sent on his way, nervously tugging on the way too small t-shirt May had picked up for him in an attempt to cover his exposed tummy. Reaching Mr. Birch’s car, Brendan exhales sharply, before squeezing in after May, closing the door behind him. As the car speeds off towards Littleroot, May props herself so she’s facing Brendan, excitement glowing on her features like a disco ball.

“Guess what I have,” she prompts, proudly holding up the pokéball in her hands.

Brendan blinks, then leans back against the seat. “Damien’s pokéball?” he guesses, shrugging his shoulders.

“Wrong! It’s the torchic’s pokéball,” May squeals, practically shoving it into Brendan’s face. “Remember her?”

To be quite frank, Brendan doesn’t remember her. Well, not at first; after a few seconds of searching through his fuzzy memories, his brain finally lands on a distinctive, orange shape. Oh. _Oh_.

“Why do you have it?” Brendan sternly questions, using his hand to push the pokéball out of his face. “It belongs to a _criminal_. Team Lava or whatever.”

“Team _Magma_ , and not anymore!” Brendan casts a sideways stare in her direction, his eyes wide but completely blank. May takes this as a chance to continue, “She was abandoned, left behind. I guess the Magma person didn’t want her? But my dad got her registered with a new pokéball, soooo she no longer belongs to that freak!”

Nodding absentmindedly, Brendan merely shifts around in his seat, frown tightening as his eyes land on the glossy pokéball. Okay, and? Why should this matter to him? As far as he’s concerned, that pokémon belongs to a criminal, and nothing is ever going to change that. Not only that, but with that combusken...shivering at the thought, he looks away from May, toning out any extra blabber she decides to spit out. Yeah, no—this torchic is going to end up exactly like the bloodthirsty combusken. As much as he trusts May and her father, he really can’t see how they can put their own faith into that torchic.

But a sudden, hard push on his shoulder yanks him away from his thoughts and, staring at May all flustered, Brendan bunches his shoulders together. 

“What?” he asks, tilting his body further away from May’s reach.

“You aren’t even listening!” May protests with a huff, falling back against the window. “I said, you’re going to take care of this torchic!” Brendan opens his mouth, but May cuts him off. “Look, you don’t even have your own pokémon yet, and you’re seventeen! That’s sad. My dad also thinks that you’d be perfect for her!” Exasperated beyond repair, Brendan shifts his blue-gray eyes on over towards the driver, Professor Birch. “You’re nice, calm, and your karate stuff would come in handy when she evolves. Plus…” May leans in closer, this time reducing her loud tone to a careful whisper, “...someone needs to keep your lame butt company when I’m gone, yeah?”

Gulping, Brendan turns his face back towards May, flinching at how suddenly close she is. In all honesty, he’s almost completely forgotten about May’s whole “go out to see the world!” scheme she’s been plotting out for weeks now. It was actually supposed to happen the night of the fire, but obviously, the schedule had to be reworked. Even then, it wouldn’t surprise him one bit of her parents are okay with letting her run off now; they have a little too much faith in her. Bobbing his head up and down nervously, Brendan runs a hand through his brown hair, ruffling it out of habit. He opens his mouth once more in an attempt to protest, ask May to please consider otherwise, however the car comes to a halt and, without a single word, Brendan scurries out of the car as soon as he could. 

He hasn’t been expecting Littleroot to be this badly damaged.

The trees bordering the town are as scorched as the night sky, with a few leaves in the farther back ones clinging for dear life. The houses, unfortunately, share a similar fate, their colorful colors now gray and muted. The stank smell of dead wood and burnt items raid his nostrils, causing him to pinch his nose as he looks around. Normally, he’d see kids playing in their front lawns, enjoying the amazing weather June provides. Instead, the town is practically a ghost town now, with no one running around; no one at all. Heart sinking, Brendan tiptoes forward, wincing at the sound of dead grass crunching under his foot. Bending, he rubs his hand across the dry blades, fingers curling as they sharply rake against his palm, contrary to the softness he’d been expecting. Lifting himself back up, he shivers a bit, tensing as May steps in line next to him.

He chooses not to stand still, however. Eventually, he finds his feet moving on autopilot towards the very first building he can think of. Maneuvering around the broken or burnt signs of the road, hopping over a few fallen branches or leaves, Brendan shudders, goosebumps dancing across his arms. Pausing in front of his home, he stares up at it with longing eyes, his vision making out where the roof is supposed to be, but it’s empty. Releasing his hand from his nose and rubbing his arm, the seventeen-year-old twitches, feeling a wet substance forming on his eyelids. Wiping it away with a hardened fist, he looks on over towards May, the frown on his lips sputtering out useful motions as he tries to comprehend the damage.

“Your parents are in Petalburg,” May answers for him, coming to yet another halt beside him. She reaches for his hand, but Brendan pulls away. “My parents and I, we’re actually staying in a hotel in Oldale. We just...y’know, wanted you to see this.”

Brendan shakes his head slowly, sniffling a bit as he takes one last gander at his home. Five years he has lived there and, thanks to one stupid team, those five years are nothing but a heap of rubbish. His home is a bunch of black rubble, something he doesn’t really recognize as his own. Turning heel, he moves away from the home, eyes scanning across the rest of the town. He can’t even tell where the lab is anymore; all he sees is rubble and destruction. Team Magma truly left nothing behind.

The trip to the hotel in Oldale is filled with silence, and while Brendan’s thoughts are racing the entire way, continuously flashing back to the destroyed Littleroot, time still goes by slowly. Out of the corner of his eye he can see May messing around with the torchic’s pokéball in her hand, but she chooses not to bring it up at all throughout the entire car ride. With a hidden “thank you, God,” whispered under his breath, Brendan focuses his attention solely on the blurry whirs of colors and other cars outside the window. After what has felt like a millenia to him, they reach the inn, and all hustle out of their seats.

Despite the solemn silence of the car ride, as soon as Brendan steps into the small, cramped hotel, he is immediately tasked with so many chores he can’t even count them all on his hand. Help May unpack, to help save time; put some dishes away, maybe even clean ones with spots on them; pick his favorite sleeping bag and fold it—wait, no, make his bed, but in May’s room since there isn’t enough space. Things like that get thrown at him so much, it’s literally eleven at night by the time he can get some form of rest. 

It’s not like May lets him relax easily, though, at least not without some babbling of her grand scheme to force a criminal’s torchic onto him.

“Seriously, Brendan—consider it,” she urges, gently patting Damien’s forehead. Her voice is a whisper, carefully selected as she listens to her parents’ footsteps in the hallway. “I can’t train that torchic, Lord knows how much she’d hate my personality. You?” She motions towards Brendan, and he simply offers her a small shrug from where he lays. “Brendan, come on. You’d totally love a blaziken, you can break boards with it…”

“May,” sighs Brendan, one hand rubbing his temples, “I don’t want a Team Magma torchic.”

“That’s your only excuse!” May exclaims, her voice booming, however she immediately flinches as she flings her stare to the door. With no response from her parents, she presses on, albeit more gently. “And you saw that pokémon not do anything to us when ordered to! I just think you’re too afraid of your dad’s reaction.”

Even though it’s dark, with only a small nightlight providing some context, Brendan can still note the hint of a tomato red flushing onto May’s face. At this, Brendan gulps, his mouth gaping open but emitting no response. He shifts around in his sleeping bag, sinking beneath both the fabric and his own skin as May’s glare creeps up on him. But then, his friend just throws her hands into the hair before letting her fingers fall back. Promptly lifting Damien from her lap and plopping him down onto the bed, she almost throws herself to her feet as she briskly makes her way towards the other end of the room.

“Well, whatever,” she snorts, her voice huffy and downright condescending. “You know I’m still leaving, right?” Brendan turns his head to face her. “Yeah. I’m going tonight.”

Tonight? Shooting up into a sitting position, Brendan stares at her, his skin tingling.

“Why tonight?” he pipes up, shoulders bunching together. He hesitates, then softly adds: “We just got here.”

May rolls her eyes, ripping a small backpack away from the floor. “I’ve been planning this trip for ages,” she growls, slinging the item over her shoulder. “I’m not gonna let some...dumb fire by some dumb gang stop me.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts!” Turning to him with a stern look, May presses her hands on her hips. “I’m done playing traumatized, it does nothing. I talked with my parents while we were unpacking; they’re okay with me leaving, so I’m out.”

Brendan stares at her, shoulders sagging as a feeling as heavy as a boulder weighs his stomach down. Rubbing his cheek idly, he allows his gaze to float around the room, his vision flying from one object to the next. Tonight. _Tonight_. It hasn’t even been that long since Team Magma has targeted her family, and now she thinks it’s safe to waltz around to go get...whatever she wants, badges or whatever? Are badges more important to her than her own safety? She and her family have always been the reckless type from the day Brendan moved in, but this is something that contains more risk than ever before. With a lump in his throat, hands growing clammy, he drags his sunken eyes on over towards May. He can’t afford to lose her.

“May,” he begins, voice slow but clear, “if I...ask my parents about the torchic, in the morning, will you stay, for at least a little longer?” 

May’s scrutinous stare softens at his soft tone, her hands falling to her sides. “Good question.”

“Please, May. Going out is really dangerous right now.”

“I know.”

“...Please?”

May’s eyes flitter on over towards the nightstand where the torchic’s pokéball rests, its red hue glistening in the small light the nightlight provides. Her frown tightens, her lips puff out, but then she relaxes, going almost limp as she shakes her head. Chuckling a bit to herself, she tiptoes her way towards Brendan’s sleeping bag, crouching down to him so they are eye-to-eye.

“You care about me too much, you know?” she muses, a smirk growing on her features. She reaches to ruffle his brown hair, giggling to herself at his resistance. “But yeah, sure.”

With a ghost of a smile on his lips, Brendan shuffles his weight from side to side, completely avoiding eye contact as he tries to usher May’s hand away. Taking the hint, she bounces to her feet and yanks hold of the torchic’s pokéball; dropping it into Brendan’s lap, she flops back onto her bed, bobbing her hips up and down in victory.

“Good luck with that!”

Blinking, Brendan keeps his focus onto May, before allowing it to land on the pokéball in his hand. Rocking it to and fro in his hand, he grimaces, remembering his dad’s normal type team. Yeah, Brendan’s going to need all the luck he can get in the morning.

—◈—

As the morning sun reaches closer and closer to its highest point, Brendan can’t help but fiddle with the brim of his T-shirt anxiously, biting lip as he holds his phone up to his ear. May stands behind him, arms crossed while the ringing sound resonates through the air.

Finally: “Hi, this is Norman Collins.”

His dad. Gulping, Brendan nods to himself, pacing in place as he braces for the conversation that lies ahead.

“Hey, Dad,” he answers back, trying to keep the stammer to a minimum. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Silence. Shifting his feet around, Brendan bunches his shoulders, eyes darting towards the floor. At this point, he can’t help but wonder why his mom hasn’t answered the call; she’s much better at conversations and, not surprisingly, less busy than his dad. Looking back at May, Brendan can’t help but flinch a little as she waves towards him, mouthing for him to just ask. 

Taking a deep breath, Brendan braces himself. “So, Dad, I have a...question.”

“Hmm?” He sounds disinterested, possibly occupied with something else. Brendan takes this as a chance to continue.

“See, May found a torchic, and...she’s a rescue, the torchic, she’s from—” he pauses, right before he mentions Team Magma—“well, they don’t know exactly.”

“Brendan, I see where you’re going with this,” his dad groans, and Brendan can almost perfectly picture his dad rubbing his fingers against his temples. “You know Danielle and I have always wanted you to have a normal-type.”

Brendan hesitates, remembering that exact conversation five years ago with his dad and mom. “Yeah, but...the torchic needs someone,” he lightly protests, grabbing the hem of his green shirt. “May—and even Mr. Birch—think I’m the best for the job.”

“Brendan, no.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so!” Silence, again. This time it draws on longer, taking its time as Brendan shrinks under his own skin. He can hear his dad snort, growling something under his breath. “Look, a challenger is coming. I don’t have time for this, so just...give the torchic away, I don’t care.”

 _Click_.

He hangs up, leaving Brendan alone. For a moment, the teenager stands there, his ear still tuned in to the silent phone, before shutting it off and shoving it into his pocket. Biting his lip, he slides his hands into his pockets, turning heel to face May. She looks at him expectantly, leaning forward, and to that he shakes his head. With a huff, May rolls her eyes, rapidly tapping her foot impatiently against the floor.

“Well—” she growls, her shoulders bunching together—“that settles it, yeah? I’m leaving tonight.” Brendan opens his mouth, but immediately gets cut off before he can even speak: “No, Brendan, you aren’t going to persuade me out of this!”

Heart plummeting, he stands there, eyes darting towards the floor beneath him once more. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the pokéball of the torchic, cradling it in his hand before pressing onto the white center. Out hops the little fire type, her feathers ruffled as she flops onto the floor. May’s vision falls to the torchic, before she bunches her shoulders, gritting her teeth as she turns away. 

“I can’t believe you are this easily swayed by your dumb parents,” she growls, storming off.

Brendan flinches at the stinging words, lifting one hand to rub his arm awkwardly. Glancing down at the torchic, then May, then the torchic, then finally deciding on May, he exhales sharply.

“May?” he starts slowly, relaxing a little as she pauses. “I’m...I’m gonna come with you.” She turns around, putting a hand on her hip. “It’s dangerous out there, May. You can’t go alone, especially with Team Magma around.” He catches himself bringing his eyes down to the torchic when he says that, but with a tiny blush, he throws them back to May. “You’re...too important to lose.”

May hesitates, her expression faltering a bit. Then, she gives in, lifting her chestnut hair to wrap it in a bun.

“You’re going to need a backpack and clothes,” she says matter-of-factly, a smile breaking through her soft features. “And you gotta tell your parents.”

“I have leftover money from babysitting,” Brendan reasons, shrugging as he purposefully ignores the part about his parents. “I haven’t had a reason to use any of it.”

May shakes her head slowly, dropping her hands to her sides. “I don’t get why you care about other people this much, Brendan. It’s almost concerning.”

Brendan shrugs, his cheeks growing hot. “You’re my only friend.”

“Yeah, well…” Looking over her shoulder, May sways her arms around a little, raw excitement radiating off of her. “We should say goodbye, then book it out of here, yeah?”

The goodbyes to Mr. and Mrs. Birch pass by slowly but still effectively, with May’s mother expressing over and over again to her daughter about how much she means to her, all that jazz. Standing by the corner near the front door of the hotel, the torchic by his side, Brendan watches the scene with a stony stare, rubbing his sweaty hands together. As much as he urges his mind to stop, he keeps thinking back to his parents, and just how big of a butt whooping he’s going to get by leaving. But, even then, as he awkwardly catches eye of May embracing her parents, he stiffens, expression hardening. Surely his parents wouldn’t blame him for wanting to keep a friend safe, right? There’s always that one saying: safety in numbers.

Blinking, Brendan steps back a little as Professor Birch breaks away from his daughter and approaches him, his gentle demeanor turning into something more serious. Gulping, Brendan tries to not shrink under his own skin as the slightly smaller—but still more intimidating—adult slaps a hand on his shoulder. For a second, Brendan can’t help but wonder if he’s going to get a mean dad talk.

“Mr. Collins,” he whispers, voice deadpan. Then, he breaks, a sad smile stretching across his features. “Keep a good eye on my girl and the torchic, okay? I don’t want anything happening to them. If you see anything fishy, call the cops.”

Nodding, Brendan forces his own smile, nervously laughing a bit. “O-of course.”

With a curt bob of his head, Mr. Birch steps back, turning to face his daughter. “Well! You two are off to see the world for once. Be safe, don’t be dumb, and have fun!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Dad!” May giggles, scooting around her father’s protruding gut. Looking up at Brendan, she smiles, the anticipation gnawing all over so obvious that it’s almost contagious. “You ready, Brendan?”

Butterflies in his stomach, he places one hand on the doorknob, opening the door and allowing May through. “Yeah.”

Getting one final look back at the Birch family, a heavy stone falling in his stomach, completely crushing whatever butterflies were there. Gulping, he glances down at the torchic, his palms sweating even more so now. Exhaling slowly, he tiptoes his way out the door, and into the bright sunlight, sudden dread clawing at him like a knife as the fire type scurries ahead of him. Even though he knows that he shouldn’t be thinking of it, he can’t help but imagine that exact torchic with Team Magma, burning down towns and endangering innocent lives. Gulping, he lifts his eyes towards the blue summer sky, feeling the heat of June beat down on him; great, he’s going to need to wear something other than his favorite hoodie.

Despite the fact that the journey has barely even started yet, Brendan can already tell that this isn’t his best idea.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun is already a little past its peak by the time May finally decides to take a breather, her steps bouncy and light as she hops to a pause on one of the many sidewalks in Oldale. Coming to a halt beside her, Brendan cracks a ghost of a smile at her excitement as he stares at the buildings towering over them. Even though Brendan has been in Oldale many times since he’s moved to Hoenn, mostly due to the fact that his taekwondo school is in the town, the sheer size of it compared to Littleroot is enough to send him into a state of awe. It’s really only a few hundred square yards bigger, but Littleroot has always been so _small_ ; there aren’t even any hotels in that town, it’s just neighborhoods and the occasional school, tiny grocery market or private business. Oldale, on the other hand, has malls with at least two stories, crowded with so many busy people from Littleroot and Oldale combined. 

In all honesty, if he thinks Oldale is bad, he can’t help but groan at the thought of Rustboro; it’s going to be _ginormous_ , he‘s already visualizing him and May getting lost for days on end in the grand city. 

“Okay, so—” May pipes up, snatching Brendan away from his thoughts—“we’re gonna have to sign up as trainers. That’s in…” She pauses, looking around the town with a crinkled up map in her hands. Under one of her armpits chills Damien, his paws swatting at the air, but she pays no mind to him. “There’s a building specifically for that.” She glances at Brendan, lips pouting out. “Do you know where it is?”

“No clue,” Brendan says flatly, his eyes falling to the torchic by his feet. 

“Huh.” Frowning, May whips her stare back to the map, her features exasperated as she throws one arm into the air. “I swear, these maps aren’t helpful at all! There’s just blue dots that indicate there’s a building, but it doesn’t say _what_ the building _is_!”

Cracking a bit of a chuckle, Brendan tilts his head, peering over his friend’s shoulder to get a glance. Well, she’s right: there’s really just a bunch of dots scattered around everywhere, with no labels. Are people here seriously expected to memorize Oldale? Sure, he’s got Littleroot down by heart, but at least it’s tiny. Oldale, on the other hand, is a little more suited for a bit of a modern population. Leaning away from the map, he blinks, his vision stretching across the vicinity. People are all busy hustling around them, and it’s just then when Brendan realizes that they’re in the middle of a sidewalk, taking up most of the space. After mumbling tiny excuses and apologies to any strangers walking past, he gently grabs May’s hand and tries to usher her to the nearest bench. 

May, however, stands as still as a statue, as if she’s been implanted into the ground and that’s where she’s meant to stay. 

“I think we should split up, that way we can both do what we gotta do,” she decides, folding the map into a tiny square before stuffing it in the back pockets of her denim shorts. Squeaking, Damien tries to swat at her chest, but she grabs his paw with her own hand, toying with it. “Sound good?” Brendan can feel his lips pressing together into a frown, but before he gets the chance to protest, May promptly continues on: “Here, I have something for you.”

Whipping her backpack off of her shoulder with her free arm (and nearly hitting some poor pedestrian in the process), May rips open the zipper and yanks out a state-of-the-art Pokédex. Mouth gaping open, Brendan stumbles back a bit as the hightec device is immediately dropped into his hands, the blue screen booting up upon contact. (Holy crap, does it have sensors?) The red surface is glossier than the floors of the Hoenn Pokémon League itself, and upon staring at his new fingerprints on the device, he suddenly feels the urge to immediately put on gloves to not ruin the exterior. 

“May, how much did this cost?” he finally sputters out after a solid minute of gawking. 

“I don’t know, I got it from my dad!” she hums, pulling out another Pokédex. “He’s the Professor, so he has like, ten extras lying around.”

Gulping, Brendan stares up at May, only to bring his starry eyes back down to the device. A giant, flashy “welcome” dances on the screen, bouncing around like those old computer screen savers. Tapping his left index finger on the glass, he leans towards the device as a bright menu appears, prompting him to give his credentials, picture, and pokémon. Eyes whipping up at May, he smiles a little, a small, exasperated giggle escaping his lips as he ruffles one hand through his dark brown hair.

“And you’re just...giving this to me?” he asks after a quick exhale, needing one final confirmation. “I don’t have to pay you?”

“Nah, you’re good!” Shaking her head, May twirls her backpack back over her shoulder, this time actually—albeit unintentionally—slapping some random citizen with the straps. “Anyways, wanna split up?”

Shoulders bunching together, Brendan once again reaches for May’s hand to bring her closer towards the side, but she pulls her hand out of the way, stretching her arms up towards the sky. Carefully, Brendan opts to scoot back anyways, creating a large gap between the two; May doesn’t bother noticing, she simply chooses to release Damien from her armpit. As the little mudkip plops down on the sidewalk, Brendan’s torchic scurries away, hiding herself behind his legs. Damien, of course, gives a spastic chase without asking, his tail fin wagging so hard it could propel a plane as he zooms after the squealing torchic. Alarm bells ringing in his head, Brendan bends down and scoops up the fire type, gingerly attempting to shoo Damien off with the hand holding the Pokédex as the mudkip attempts to leap after her.

“I guess I’ll take your lack of response as a yes!” May chirps, leaving her flailing pokémon on the sidewalk. “Wanna meet up at the Pokémon Center at—” she glances down at the time imprinted on her Pokédex—“five? We can eat dinner there.”

Shifting the torchic around so she’s comfortable, Brendan curtly nods, his brain somewhat remaining on alert. “Uh—”

“Cool!” Turning heel, May waves towards Damien as she brings out his pokéball. “Damien, wanna go into your pokéball for me?”

As if he’s prepared and rehearsed for this moment his entire life, the little mudkip throws himself onto his side, kicking his legs in the air and letting out strange hissing noises that sounds like a cat stuck underwater. Hugging his torchic closer, Brendan’s eyebrows furrow together as the pokémon rages on in his tantrum, now slapping his tail fin against the floor. Even though this isn’t the first time Brendan’s seen this, it’s still...how does he put it? Vision fluttering to May, he squirms around as she visibly sulks, putting his pokéball away.

Good God, that mudkip really has her wrapped around his stubby little paw.

“Fine, you big baby!” May loudly sneers, tossing her arms into the air. Throwing an exasperated glare at Brendan, she adds: “Make sure you don’t let your torchic do that.”

Meekly, Brendan forces a smile onto his features, a weak laugh escaping his lips. “Yeah, of course.”

(Yeah, because a Team Magma torchic will _totally_ behave better than a tamed mudkip.)

“Well, anyways—” lifting Damien into her arms, May pats the top of his forehead, proceeding to hop away in the other direction—“seeya later, alligator!”

As the torchic in his arms puffs out a bit, Brendan sighs, standing still as his friend hurries away. “In a while, crocodile.”

With that, he’s left alone, despite being surrounded by so many citizens and cradling a small torchic in one of his arms. Adjusting one arm, he looks around, attempting to pick out any possible familiar stores or buildings, but to no avail—he can’t even tell what building he’s standing in front of now. Bringing his stare down to the windows behind him, he rolls his shoulders a bit, straining his eyes to get past the tinted glass. It’s an office, he thinks. Frown tightening, he shakes his head, picking a random direction after a few moments of deciding and sticking to it, his steps brisk and antsy. As he meanders on, though, he feels his muscles relax a bit, the stiffness flying away from his features. 

Yeah, yeah—he remembers this road: it’s where his parents sometimes go for Christmas and birthday shopping. The stores aren’t anything too massive or spectacular but, compared to Littleroot, they certainly look _expensive_. But the people in Oldale seem to saunter in and out of all of the stores aimlessly, not caring that they’re walking on what many citizens from Littleroot would consider the Louis Vuitton of Hoenn. Suddenly feeling a tad bit out of place, Brendan cautiously picks his way into one of the smaller clothing stores, his blue-gray eyes whipping back and forth as he picks up a shopping basket, allowing his feet to go on a begrudging autopilot towards the men’s section of clothes.

At the end of it all, he picks out two shirts and some travel shoes, all before escaping the men’s clothing aisle as fast as his tall legs can carry him (all while looking as normal as possible, considering he’s in public). On the way towards self-checkout he takes the time to grab hold of a navy blue backpack, perfect for traveling long distances; it even comes with slots on the side to hold up to six pokéballs. Granted, Brendan can only see himself needing one for the torchic, but he guesses he can help May if she ever needs any extra storage, right? Stopping in line to the self-checkout aisle, he nods to himself— _right_. 

After what feels like centuries, he’s checked out, meandering out of the store with three bags and a torchic all stuffed in his arms. Stopping by the nearest bench that’s empty, Brendan plops down onto the wood and sets the bags and torchic beside him. Grabbing hold of his backpack, he rips off the tag and tosses it into the trash can beside him. Once he’s done tearing every tag off of his clothes, he stuffs them into the same backpack, and then finally sets his Pokédex inside. Leaning back, he glances down at the torchic, then at the time on his phone. Four o’clock; he’s got plenty of time to kill, but his mind is as blank as ever. Great.

“Do you wanna do anything?” Brendan asks, but then he almost immediately sighs to himself, rubbing his temples with his fingers. The torchic stares at him, empty expression unwavering. “Oh, yeah. You can’t talk.”

With his lips sticking out in a tiny pout, he folds his hands together, watching the strangers pass by nonchalantly. Jeez, if boredom could kill, he’d be the brand new murder mystery on television. Shaking his head, he rests his cheek on his palm, eyes fluttering up towards the sky. The torchic beside him chirps casually, stepping close towards his leg and brushing her wing against it. Instinctively, Brendan roughly yanks it out of reach, but allows the tension to fade from his muscles when he brings his vision back down to earth. Guilt gnawing on him like a hungry mightyena, he shifts his eyes elsewhere, avoiding eye contact. 

Then, it dawns on him: the taekwondo school! How are they holding up?

Bouncing to his feet (and consequently frightening the torchic once more), Brendan hauls his backpack over his shoulder and scoops up the torchic, a smile growing on his features as he begins his eager walk in the direction he’s memorized long, _long_ ago. God, it’s been ages since he’s last been there, right? Well...technically only a few days thanks to the fire, but to him that feels like centuries; he hasn’t missed a single class ever since he joined. In fact, he hasn’t even skipped any of the lessons from the one he went to when he still lived in Alola; he’s been in taekwondo since he was five, and it’s going to stay that way whether it kills him or not. (At this thought, he can’t help but bite his lip at the idea of being forced to miss lessons due to following May around, but he shoves that thought down into the dark corners of his brain. It’s worth it for her, anyways.)

Coming up to the glass front door the small building, Brendan braces himself, the grip on his torchic tightening as he pauses outside the door. Butterflies swarming like angry bees in his stomach, he gulps, his skin growing prickly as his brain lays out the possible outcomes. He’s missed a few lessons since that night, at least two. Or maybe just one, he—he isn’t sure. Either way, would his instructor be mad? His instructors, Mr. and Mrs. Park, they’re nice people, the most understanding people he’s ever met, but... _hhh_ , he doesn’t know. After one slow exhale, Brendan pulls on the doorknob and opens the door, stepping onto the clean wood floors.

Almost immediately, he’s greeted by the screeching of _kihaps_ as kids and adults alike slap their feet against kicking bags, boards, whatever, but luckily they’re not directed at him. Heartbeat slowing and tension evaporating as the familiar sound dances in his ears, Brendan smiles, kicking off his shoes and socks and stuffing them into one of the many cubbies. Slipping off his backpack, he sets it against the wall and picks his way through the series of duffel bags and piled gear, briskly pacing himself down the hallway and towards the red and blue mats. On the way there, he glances down at the torchic, holding her pokéball in his hand.

“You gotta go,” he whispers to her, hovering the catch of the ball above her. 

At the torchic’s meek chirp, he flinches, remembering Damien’s tantrum from earlier. If Damien, one of the sweetest pokémon he knows, throws a tantrum at being put away, how would a Team Magma torchic react? Gulping, he presses the circular item against her feathered head.

Without any protest, the torchic morphs into a red beam of light, only to fade inside the ball.

Taken aback, Brendan stops, staring down at her pokéball. Where’s...where’s the tantrum? Where’s the fit? Lowering the item, he stares ahead, eyes narrowing as his mind tries to draw a conclusion. To make matters worse, his brain instead chooses to force him back to yesterday, where she’s been stuck in the ball for the majority of the day because of his whining. Just how many times has this torchic been shoved into her ball without an explanation, and for how long? With how she’s acted during that first encounter, it must’ve been a while, right?

“...Sorry.” 

Continuing on, Brendan brings himself to halt in front of a series of blue mats, watching as two kids in the red center kick the living daylights out of each other. In front of them is Mrs. Park, but on the other hand, her husband is nowhere to be seen. Huh. Rolling his shoulders, he bows towards the flags on the opposite wall, but before he can step inside a rough hand slaps against his back.

“Brendan, we missed you!” Mr. Park beams, his foreign accent thick as ever as he ruffles Brendan’s hair. Straightening himself up so fast like an angry, abused zipper, Brendan moves to shake hands with his eager instructor, his eyes momentarily flickering towards the class. Every single eye in the room whips their stare towards the two, even the kids in the middle of their spar. “You’re late! Are you here for class?”

Overwhelmed by his instructor, the teenager shrugs, rubbing one arm awkwardly as a tomato red blush grows on his face. “N-no, sorry,” he stammers out, voice growing soft. “I’m just here to...say hi, I guess—”

“Is that a pokéball?” someone in the back questions, pointing at the red and white shape in Brendan’s hands.

His blush somehow growing even more red, Brendan chuckles a bit to himself, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifts his feet around. Holding it up so everyone can see, he nods, eyes shifting to and fro to avoid any eye contact.

“Yeah, she’s a torchic,” he answers, keeping his tone quiet but still audible. Guilt claws on him as some of the students lean in closer, their irises sparkling. “A...rescue torchic.”

At this, Mr. Park’s eyes grow wide, dancing his feet around like an excited toddler. Turning towards his wife, he signs, _Haven’t you always wanted a torchic?_

 _Yeah, I have,_ she signs right back, and Brendan can’t help but laugh a little bit more, his mind growing blank on how to respond. (Wait, _should_ he even respond?)

“Man, blaziken are such cool pokémon,” his male instructor continues. But then he pauses, his eyes landing on the crowd watching. Clapping his hands, he motions towards them. “What are you guys doing? Get back to class!”

And just like that, everyone goes back to their usual business, be it sparring or stretching. With the attention off of him, Brendan releases a sigh of relief, however Mr. Park is not done with him just yet.

“Well, I’m glad you have a pokémon,” he states matter-of-factly, his voice growing more hushed. “When my wife and I read about Littleroot, we were _devastated_. It was all over the news—everywhere.” Gulping, Brendan amiably nods, his eyes falling to the floor. “I’m glad you’re okay, though. And between you and me—” leaning in extra close, Mr. Park whispers in his ear—“you needed a pokémon more than anyone else.”

His mind as empty as a white wall in a new house, Brendan bunches his shoulders together, the red fading from his features—just not entirely. A part of him can’t exactly tell if that was supposed to be a compliment or a backhanded one but...Mr. Park’s nice. Honestly, if anyone has the title of being the one to make Brendan feel most at home in Hoenn, it’d have to be Mr. Park—no doubt about it.

“...Thank you,” Brendan finally responds after a bit of hesitation, vision falling to the pokéball before lifting up towards the rest of the class. A part of him aches to run in there and start slapping some kicking bags with his legs, but he remains rooted in his spot, frown tightening.

Mr. Park nods, watching his wife switch out some kids for the spar. “Does the torchic have a name?”

Brendan blinks, his attention ripping away from the class and towards his instructor. A...name. Opening his mouth, then shutting it, he shifts his feet around, eyes widening a bit. Then, he slowly shakes his head, to which Mr. Park laughs at.

“Well, if it helps, my wife has always wanted to name a torchic Ares,” he hums. “Pretty good name. Some ancient god of war, isn’t it? Except your torchic is a girl, so I guess Athena would have to do.”

Brendan nods, remaining as silent as ever as one of the black belt adults is pit against an eager—but much younger—yellow belt. Luckily, she goes extremely against the smaller kid, but Brendan can’t help but tense a little, one hand clenching into a fist as he watches—

Wait, what time is it?

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Brendan stares at the time, his eyes widening.

Crap, fifteen minutes to five!

“Hey, uh—I gotta go,” Brendan stammers, immediately bowing out of the room and backing away.

Oh God, May better not be at the Pokémon Center by now; Brendan can already just feel the sting of the scolding he’s going to get if he shows up even two minutes late. Throwing on his socks, shoes and backpack, he waves a quick goodbye to Mr. Park before rushing out the door, closing it behind him and zooming towards the Pokémon Center in a blur. With eight minutes to spare, he finally reaches it, however he can’t help but groan at May standing by the entrance, holding a treat on a string above Damien’s head. Stopping in front of the two, Brendan momentarily watches the mudkip hop up and down in a spastic nature, trying to shove his mouth around the treat but failing miserably. Shoving one hand into his pockets, he brings his eyes up to May.

However, May starts the conversation for him. “I finally figured out where the whole trainer registration crap is!” she exclaims, twirling the treat playfully in the air as Damien flails around. With a bit of a huff, she looks at Brendan. “It’s right here, in this Pokémon Center. Seriously, I could’ve sworn it was somewhere else.”

A ghost of a smile appears on Brendan’s lips. “Well, at least you found it?” he offers, cocking his head to one side. 

“Yeah, yeah.” As she lowers the string, Damien gives a mighty leap that is about as graceful as a magikarp out of water, devouring the treat whole. “Wanna go inside?”

A rhetorical invitation that Brendan can’t bring himself to say no to. 

Once inside the building, May grabs Brendan by the hands and practically hauls him on over towards the nearest computers, not wasting any time. As soon as he’s in front of a screen, May hops on over towards her own, Damien following along like an overly-clingy puppy. Turning on the device, Brendan watches as the glass automatically flashes to the trainer registration screen, prompting for him to enter his information.

 _Full name?_ Brendan Isaac Collins.

 _Gender?_ Male.

 _Height?_ Six feet, four inches.

The list goes on and on until finally, it asks for his starter pokémon. Scrolling through the list presented to him, the seventeen-year-old selects torchic, allowing the computer to take him to the next part of the process.

Oh, right—a name.

Casting a sideways glance at May, Brendan drums his fingers against the keyboard idly, noting that she’s _already_ on the part where she takes a picture for her ID. Turning back towards the computer, Brendan gulps, reaching into his pocket to dig out the torchic’s pokéball. Releasing her onto the floor, he watches as the fire type releases a few squeaks from her beak, only to tiptoe closer to Brendan’s jeans. He can’t skip the name part. Well...technically he can, the option is right in front of him, but the idea of that doesn’t settle easy with him; constantly calling a pokémon after their species name almost makes him want to cringe. So, after a few moments of careful decision making, he begins typing.

“You’re naming her _Athena_?” inquiries May, appearing right next to Brendan.

Jumping from the sudden voice, Brendan stares at her, eyes wide, only for him to casually press the ‘enter’ button once he’s done.

“Yeah, my taekwondo instructor suggested it,” he says, leg stiffening as the torchic—Athena—rubs against it. (He chooses not to admit that he also has zero ideas for any other alternative, just in case.)

“Huh.” Crossing her arms, May backs away from the computer as it readies a countdown, camera focusing on her friend. “I guess that’s cool.”

With a bright, white flash, the computer steals a picture of Brendan’s face and, after a few rumbly moments like a shaking dragon, it proceeds to print out a small identification card, just for him. Plucking the paper from the computer, Brendan stuffs it into his wallet.

“Don’t you wanna make sure your photo’s okay?” May comments, trying to keep her balance as Damien begins to play wrestle with her foot. 

A nose scrunching up is Brendan’s only answer to that question. Shrugging one shoulder, May lifts up Damien into the air, holding him above her head before pulling him in close and hugging him. Bending down, Brendan gingerly allows Athena to scurry into his arms, however he opts not to do all the...playful stuff May is busying herself with. Instead, he hovers one index finger in the air above the torchic’s head, frown tightening a bit as she whips her stare up at him. Ever so carefully, he presses the finger against her feathers, noting just how soft they really are; it’s almost as fuzzy as a mareep’s wool, or even a mega ampharos’ hair. The fire type squeaks amiably at his touch, flapping her wings as she tilts her head to one side, then the other, beak gaping open. 

“Brendan, she likes you!” May chimes in, coddling Damien in close. 

“You think so?” Brendan mumbles, a smile forcing its way onto his skin. 

In that moment, with the torchic emitting high-pitched coos and chirps, he almost forgets where exactly she came from. However, as he begins to scratch under her wings, and she kicks her legs up in glee, he can’t help but notice a familiar-looking logo on the underside of her left foot. Peering closer, he shivers, nose scrunching up as he jolts away from her.

There, right on her foot, is the blood red Team Magma symbol, branded on her forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m uploading this in the middle of a tornado warning, whoops.
> 
> First thing: the way his taekwondo school is portrayed is based off of my own experiences! My female instructor isn’t deaf or mute (leaving purposefully vague for your guys’ own interpretation), but the way the school functions, how the instructors are referred, etc. is more or less based on the school I go to. (No, their names aren’t the same as their real-life counterparts.)
> 
> Apologies if the end of the chapter is sudden. Admittedly, I had zero clue how to end it, and it’s not like I’m good at writing chapters in fanfics, anyways. I’m trying, though!
> 
> This note is turning super long, so I’m gonna cut it short. I hope to upload a new chapter every Monday, but that isn’t guaranteed, especially since finals are this week. I also plan on NOT having notes at the end of every chapter, but we’ll see. 
> 
> ALSO X2—  
> Would you guys like to see “face-claims” I keep imagining for the characters? It’d be super helpful to know!! 
> 
> Last but not least, I hope you guys are enjoying this thus far! Thank you for the kudos and comments and what have you last chapter, they really made my week and motivated the heck outta me to keep this going <33


	3. Chapter 3

The oh-so elusive state of sleeping adamantly refuses to come easy to Brendan at times.

When in his house, living normally, knowing that he just has his typical schedule to do tomorrow, it’s fine—he can sleep. But when he’s in a totally new environment, and not in the same room as someone he knows or cares about, it’s...well, he has his eyes open for the majority of the night. Granted, he doesn’t have to be in the same room as someone, but it certainly does help a lot when he’s in a rented room. (He can’t help but shift uncomfortably about that, though; he knows this torchic lying across the bed, therefore her presence should be comforting, but his mind keeps coming back to that Team Magma symbol. Can it come off?)

Sitting upright, Brendan rubs his temples, a sigh escaping his lips as his eyes fall down to Athena. Her feathers all fluffed up, she kicks her twiggy legs in her sleep with her orange head resting on a pillow. Running a hand through his hair, Brendan drags his stare across the rented room, before landing onto the digital clock on the nightstand next to him; four in the morning. Jesus Christ. With a groan, he anticlimactically flops back against his pillow, shoving his blanket over his head and slamming his eyes shut. His brain remains wide awake, however, banshee-screaming and throwing his negative thoughts around like a toddler who didn’t get the candy it wants.

Athena’s mark. Her brand, he guesses; whatever the thing is, it remains as still as a statue in his head, rooted into the ground like a deep weed. How did it get there in the first place? He knows pokémon can have birthmarks, literally any creature can, but the Team Magma symbol is way too specific to be something like that. The only possible idea is that they _put_ it on her, and—and fire types are immune to burns, so that means...oh God. Cringing at the mental image, Brendan grits his teeth together, his grip on the blanket so tight his bones may as well start snapping at the pressure. He’s not a violent person, he really tries not to be, but the urge to punch that pink-haired Team Magma chick square in the face seems pretty tempting right about now.

Shaking his head, Brendan peeps his head out from under the blanket, gawking at the digital clock next to him. Ten minutes past four.

Oof, he really hopes May isn’t planning on anything too chaotic once she’s awake.

—◈—

The kitchen staff of the hotel serve breakfast at eight, so it’s easy to say that Brendan doesn’t look too hot when he stumbles out of his room, sleep-deprived from the mere two hours he managed to snag. Absentmindedly tugging on his white t-shirt as Athena tags along, he shuffles into line for the buffet and moves his arms to cross them, the world swaying beneath his feet. After grabbing a plate with two pancakes and some bacon, he scouts out the most secluded, hidden table he can find and immediately sits at it. Fork in his left hand, he feebly picks at his food, tensing on instinct as a familiar figure approaches him.

“Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something?” May jokes, setting a plate stacked full of pancakes down as she sits across from Brendan.

Brendan shrugs half-heartedly, ripping off a piece from his measly pancake pile and handing it to Athena, who stares up at him expectantly from the floor. “I guess.”

May chooses not to respond, grabbing her fork and ripping into her tasty Tower of Babel. Cheek resting on his palm, Brendan drops his plastic utensil and stares out the window behind him, eyes squinting at the harsh sunlight. People in Oldale continue on with their lives as normal outside, not giving a care about the world; Brendan wishes he could say the same thing about himself. Vision flickering down towards Athena, then back up to May, Brendan braces himself.

“Hey, May?” he begins, his voice soft. When May glances up at him, he continues: “Do scars go away when a pokémon evolves?”

May narrows her eyes a little, swallowing her food and propping her elbows up onto the table. “Why?”

“...No reason.”

“Huh.” Brown eyes floating up towards the ceiling, May scrunches up her nose a bit, as if she’s trying to recall some vague part from her time researching pokémon with her father. “I don’t think so.” Brendan wilts. “Pokémon are known for healing fast, but if a wound is so bad it _scars_ , then it’s gonna stay.”

With a hard swallow, Brendan bows his head and drops his eyes to the floor, inching his feet to the left as Athena pecks at his foot. Great—exactly what he needs. But then May clears her throat, and he whips his gaze upward, growing hot as her intense stare stays rooted into his.

“You sure there isn’t a reason?” she presses, voice stern as she leans forward. 

Brendan shifts around in his seat, debating his options, before finally inhaling after some careful consideration. “Athena, she has a scar.”

May cocks her head to one side, parting her lips but preventing any words from coming out. For a moment, she flashes a hint of confusion, before her eyes widen and he sips her lips shut. Then she twirls her fork, peering over the table to catch a glimpse of the torchic; with no success, she sits right back down, lips pouting out a teensy bit.

“Maybe it’ll go away,” she says, crossing her arms. “Can’t say for sure. If it’s a tiny scar, then it probably will. Other than that…?”

She shrugs, shooting Brendan a bit of an understanding look right as she stabs her fork right into the pancake and continues on with her meal. Shoulders sagging, he pries another small piece off of his pancake and flings it to the floor, Athena gobbling it up immediately. As she flicks her beady eyes back towards him, beak gaping open just a little, he averts his attention elsewhere, his mind thinking back to that mark—the scar—on her foot. 

But his train of thought slams its brake when May basically punches her palms onto the wooden surface of the table, shooting upwards.

“We have to train!” she loudly gasps, her demeanor unwavering as eyes from all across the room stare at her. Shrinking under his own skin, Brendan leans away from her. “I have a gym to challenge soon—Rustboro’s—and Damien needs it. I want Steven Stone’s metagross to _fear_ Damien by the time I have all eight badges.” Practically bouncing up and down on her feet, she beams. “And hey—Athena could use a bit of a push, too!”

Right—the gym challenge. Now that she has a trainer identification card, there literally cannot be a single thing to stop her. Nodding solemnly, Brendan pushes his plate away, his stomach sinking under a large stone. A part of him twinges, urging him to protest, but as he stares down at the torchic, he slumps, eyelids heavy. He...he can’t rely on it, but if she evolves, would the scar go away? It looks pretty severe; who knows how long it’s been on her foot. But at the same time, he isn’t in the position to miss a chance like that. Keeping his leg from jolting as Athena nuzzles against it, he blinks.

“So, uh,” he stammers out, rubbing one arm as a ghost of a smile twitches on his lips, “when do you want to do that?” He flinches as she flings her plate out of the way. “...After breakfast?”

It seems that Brendan has greatly underestimated May’s go-getter personality, though.

Almost as soon as he asks that, she grabs both of their plates and chucks them into the trash, wraps her hand around his and practically charges to their rooms. After being shoved into his own room, Brendan stumbles and trips into the center, barely managing to catch his balance as Athena scurries inside.

“Grab all of your stuff and hurry!” May exclaims, her voice shouting through the wall.

Grimacing, Brendan stares at his opened door, wondering just how many people she’s waking up with that voice. But to prevent a tantrum, he does just as she demands; slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he kicks on his shoes and meanders into the hall, closing the door behind him once Athena’s followed suit. He thinks he knows where exactly May is going with this; chances are, she plans on hustling right out of Oldale and straight through Petalburg, on the way to Rustboro. Brendan rolls his shoulders at that idea. He can understand getting to Petalburg by tonight, but Rustboro? It’ll take longer than one might expect, especially when they’re traveling on foot compared to a car. (Jeez, he can’t wait until he’s eighteen and can finally snag a driving license. It’s beyond stupid how a thirteen-year-old is legally allowed to travel the world and even obtain a flying license, but they have to wait until they’re eighteen to get a driving license.)

As May throws herself out of her room and into the hallway, she tosses Damien’s pokéball into the air, gleefully dancing in place as the mudkip bounces onto the hardwood flooring. 

“You got your room key?” she asks, twirling her own in her hand.

Yeah, Brendan figured she’d be leaving. Patting his pocket, he idly watches the water type lazily pester Athena. “Yup.”

After purchasing some snacks for both them and their pokémon, they turn in their room keys and take off. 

Stepping out of the hotel and into the scorching heat of the summer, Brendan sighs to himself, patiently waiting for May to take the lead before he follows along, trailing behind her. Shoving her nose into her Pokédex, she occasionally looks up from her device to make sure she knows where exactly she’s going, only to force her face back onto the screen. Once they exit Oldale, the sounds of waves lapping at the shore grow louder and louder, but May chooses not to go to the beach. Instead, she chugs along, not taking a single break as the hours drag on and on and on. 

Along the way, she battles trainers, allowing Damien to take up as much spotlight as he wants. Even though the mudkip is a crazy little thing, it’s nearly impossible to ignore just how good at battling he is. While he does get tackled and pelted and burnt, with bruises now scattering his otherwise bouncy frame, he’s strong, especially for his size. Strange how something so tiny—that was even smaller when he hatched in May’s room—proves to be a force no one should reckon with.

Athena, on the other hand, doesn’t battle, but Brendan thinks he’s somewhat okay with that. As much as the idea of her evolving to rid of that scar seems promising, the idea of kicking the petite fire type into a battle makes his stomach twist and churn. What if she gets hurt? What if he ends up being just like that Team Magma lady? Wincing, he profusely shakes his head, continuing to follow May along the path the Pokédex has laid out for them. Now isn’t the time to think about that, right? Glancing down at Athena, then at May, he gulps. Right. Considering that there hasn’t been any recent drama with Team Magma, he guesses he can release the tension from his shoulders. Maybe...maybe they’re done with tormenting May and others. Heart lifting a little, he smiles a bit as Athena pecks away at the bruise on Damien’s shoulder. 

Team Magma probably has more important things to worry about.

But when Athena kicks one foot back, revealing the Team Magma brand, the smile completely disintegrates, leaving behind a blank canvas on his features.

Unless they find that scar.

Anxiety clawing away at him just like that combusken, Brendan tries to slam his thoughts down into the corners of his mind, momentarily trying to focus on the moment instead of his own fears. Like May—she looks pretty happy. Blinking, Brendan lightly kicks a pebble out of the way as they begin to near some patch of foliage. Abruptly halting, May lowers the Pokédex from her face for once in her life, staring up at the clouds above them. Then, she turns to face Brendan, stretching one arm up towards the sky.

“I’d say this is a good spot to take a break!” she claims, immediately landing her butt onto the fluffy grass.

Well, dang, Brendan hasn’t realized how excruciatingly loud his stomach was growling until she said that. Bobbing his head up and down, he gently seats himself onto the ground, placing his hands in his lap while May tosses a snack in his direction. Catching it after a massive flinch, he peels away the wrapper and carefully stuffs the fruit bar into his mouth. Okay, he knows he can’t say much because he’s so darn hungry right now, but why the heck does this thing have the audacity to taste like cardboard that was thrown into the laundry machine before being hung out to dry for thirty-two years? Cringing a bit at the stale flavor, Brendan leans back and studies the plastic wrapper, eyebrows knitting together at the crumpled up label. 

“Where’d you get these?” he asks, watching May dig into one of her own.

“Hotel,” she states matter-of-factly, not paying much mind to the conversation; it seems as if the snack holds the most amount of importance to her.

Well then. Blinking, Brendan scrunches his nose down at the treat, shoulders bunching together before he takes a slow bite into it. Shuddering at the awful aftertaste, he licks his lips and brings his attention towards Damien and Athena. Chasing each other around, the two seem to pay no mind to anything going on around them. Guess Brendan’s alone, huh? Shoulders sagging, he drops his backpack off of him, prodding open the zipper and taking out a bag of treats. Shaking it, he expectantly stares up at the playing pokémon, but to no avail. 

“Have you noticed how much they like each other now?” May muses, crumbling up the plastic wrapper and hiding it in her pocket. 

Setting the bag down, Brendan tilts his head to one side, rocking back and forth a little. Yeah—it’s a stark contrast compared to the other day when Athena was avoiding Damien. Maybe she’s finally calming down and realizing that no one here wants to hurt her? Shifting around, he rips his stare away from them, vision suddenly interested in the grass. That, or she’s just trying to practice her battling skills.

“Well, I think that’s enough of a break time—” hopping to her feet, May grabs her backpack and turns heel to face the wide expanse of the path ahead of them—“I wanna get to Petalburg soon.”

Petalburg City, where the Petalburg Gym is.

Frown twisting, Brendan rubs his arm, remaining rooted on the ground. All at once, the exhaustion from his lack of sleep really seems to be kicking in. In fact, sleep sounds like a good option right now; much better than heading straight towards Petalburg.

“May, what about my parents?” he murmurs, his voice a higher pitch than normal.

“What about them?” Hand on her hips, she whips out her Pokédex, already tapping away on the device for it to continue directing them.

A thousand questions and concerns dance on the tip of Brendan’s tongue, but he merely swallows, wiping the sweat that trickles down his forehead. He can’t take away from her journey just because he lied to his parents, but...what if he sees them? Sure, they lead busy lives considering they’re both trainers at the gym (one being the leader), but they aren’t always battling; sometimes his dad likes to take strolls and teach aspiring trainers how to catch a pokémon or two. Yet when he looks up, May already begins to saunter away, and he has no choice but to scramble to his feet and trail behind her, his mind racing with possible outcomes. 

His knees grow weak by the time they reach Petalburg.

If anxiety or any form of concern was a sickness, May remains to be the healthiest girl in all of Hoenn, maybe even in the entire planet. Brendan, on the other hand...well, he’s practically on his deathbed at this point. Hiding his face from any passerby, Brendan immediately grabs Athena’s pokéball and presses it against her head, muttering a faint and lackluster apology as she disappears into the capsule. Clipping it to his backpack, the seventeen-year-old bites his lips and fiddles with his thumb as May marches right through the city, her movements as stiff as a robot that desperately needs an oil change, but somehow also as gleeful as her own mudkip at the same time.

Bile rises in Brendan’s throat when Petalburg’s very own gym begins to materialize in the distance. Slowing his steps, he meticulously falls quite a bit behind May, his blue-gray irises locked onto the gym so intensely that he almost forgets to blink. His dad’s in there. 

_What if they see me?_

Oh, he can vividly hear the screaming fit his parents would have. Especially considering that Athena’s a fire type, soon to be a part-fighting type as well? He’d never hear the end of it. To make matters a hundred times worse, there’s also that scar on her foot. Shivering, Brendan hunches on over, his breath growing so shaky he may as well be in the middle of a magnitude nine earthquake. 

And just as Brendan’s right in front of the gym, May just ahead of him, the door opens.

Squeaking as shrill as a rattata, Brendan flies to the nearest alley, flinging behind it and pressing his back against the wall. Straining his ears, he listens, biting his lip and even managing to draw a bit of blood.

“Hey, May.”

His father. 

“Hello!” May seems to not care about the danger of the situation right now. 

“You’re out on your badge quest?” Brendan knows it all too well: his tone seems icy, cold.

“Yup! I still need to get to Rustboro, though.”

Silence. Then, “You’re not starting with Petalburg?”

“I wanna start with Rustboro, it’d be easier for Damien. I think I’ll go to Lavaridge after that.”

“Ah.”

Silence again. His entire body trembling like a malfunctioning machine, Brendan puts a hand over his mouth, his stomach twitching and spasming as he holds back the rising vomit with all of his muscle. 

“Keeping contact with Brendan?” his father asks, and for a moment Brendan feels like he’s going to collapse, the ground swaying and distorting beneath him.

“A little, yeah. He’s still with my parents.”

Norman grunts. “Hmph.” Brendan’s knees buckle, but he tries to hold still. “He hasn’t responded to any of my calls.”

When Norman falls back into another state of intense silence, May poses a fake yawn. “Okay, well—I gotta get going!”

A rough and exhausted sigh, something that makes Brendan’s heart race. Good memories aren’t associated with that sound, he’s anticipating the pounding of questions that are about to ensue. Despite this, his father opts not to press or pester, he simply grumbles, “Stay safe; I heard Team Magma is around,” before growing silent once more.

Brendan’s heart skips at least three beats once the conversation dies—hard. Swallowing a boulder down his throat, he tries to clutch onto the bricks he’s pressed against, his fingers scratching themselves on the rough surface. The gym door opens, then closes. For a century-long minute, there’s nothing, but suddenly May pops her head from around the corner. With a small yelp, Brendan stumbles backwards, his hand grasping hold of his heart as he breathes heavily.

“I keep forgetting how weird your dad is,” she casually says, shrugging her shoulders. “Wanna keep going?”

Nodding, Brendan grabs a hold of May’s outstretched hand and stumbles out of the alleyway, tripping over his feet as they reach the final stretch of Petalburg. Once outside the city’s borders, Brendan releases a massive sigh, a bit of the tension fading away from him as he goes a little limp. Heartbeat slowing down, he tears his hand away from May’s and follows her down the short path to the woods. Grabbing hold of Athena’s pokéball, he hovers his thumb over the catch before pressing against it, allowing the torchic to roam freely once more. 

“There’s Mr. Briney’s house,” May casually comments, her index finger motioning towards a shabby old hut near a dock. “Isn’t he your dad’s friend?”

Casting a sideways glance at the house, Brendan blinks. “I don’t know; my dad had to tell him to stop letting his wingull—Peeko—poop all over the gym’s roof.”

Giggling, May rolls her eyes, choosing not to comment. That’s okay with Brendan, though; despite the fact that any form of silence from his father is frightening, May choosing not to speak also is a bit comforting for him. He doesn’t feel pressured to talk, he guesses, when May keeps her mouth shut. Instead, he gets the chance to breathe, to focus his mind on something other than the task ahead.

But one thing lurks in his mind, slithering from the corner of his brain towards the very center—what his father said earlier. Something about Team Magma creeping around. 

His throat clogging up once more, Brendan balls his fists together, fingernails digging into his skin as they near Petalburg Woods. What if Team Magma is in there? Shoulders bunching together and teeth gritting, he helplessly stares down at Athena, whose feathered flank is pressed against Damien’s slimy skin. What if they get attacked? Mugged, jumped, _killed_? Surely that combusken isn’t the strongest pokémon Team Magma has to offer; they probably own strong camerupts or heavy torkoals. Those tend to be docile pokémon, but stories of them harming their trainers due to accidents aren’t as rare as one might think. If one of them is trained to do that on purpose, then...oh God.

Nerves prickling and alarm bells ringing in his head, Brendan quickens his pace, briskly moving himself next to May. She appears to give no care in the world about her own safety, she hardly looks phased by anything his father said. Glancing back to make sure Athena and Damien are still following, Brendan weakens, eyebrows furrowing together as the collection of trees begins to increase around them.

This is it, Petalburg Woods.

_Let’s hope we don’t see Team Magma in here._


	4. Chapter 4

The crunching of leaves beneath his feet accomplish nothing to calm Brendan’s nerves, even if the occasional twig snap—which results in a jump at first—does bring him back down to earth. Rubbing both of his arms, the seventeen-year-old squirms at the clingy, sticky hot air that wafts around them. Feeling his bare arms soothes him, cools him down a little, but for once in his life he wishes that he bought shorts instead of pants for this journey. 

Shaking his head, he presses on, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watches May merrily trot along in front of him. The sun is about to set—he can already sense the fatigue kicking in. Grumbling incoherent words, he maneuvers around a fallen log, a sheepish smile tugging on the ends of his lips as Damien tries to leap over it, but incredibly fails. Athena holds enough common sense, however, to simply follow Brendan’s footsteps, chirping amiably as her scaly friend flops onto his back after the attempt. 

“Hey, Brendan!” May calls, her voice a little frantic.

Whipping his head around, Brendan rips his fists out of his pockets and tramples on over, expecting the worst. But no—May is just bouncing lightly on her heels, excitement surging all across her frame as she points at a rustling bush.

Grabbing her Pokédex, she begins tapping away at the screen, pulling up a list of pokémon that dwell in Petalburg Woods from the device’s database. “I wonder what pokémon it is?” Pulling up a picture of a scraggly looking dog, she squeals, causing Brendan to take a step back. “I really hope it’s a poochyena.”

A poochyena? Blinking, Brendan stiffens, his eyebrows furrowing together as he glares down at the bush. He’s heard about wild ones; nasty little things. They pickpocket trainers who leave their stuff out when taking a trip to the bathroom. So, when that bush rustles and shakes, Brendan prepares for the most horrible option. 

That is, until a living mushroom-thing flings out.

“A shroomish!” May screams, shoving her Pokédex into Brendan’s hands. “Damien, go get it!”

In comes Damien, rushing right into the scene from seemingly nowhere and plowing straight into the shroomish. With a strange, garbled cry, the grass type shakes its weird yellow petal-things, sprinkling out a collage of purple and yellow sparkles. Hopping out of the way, Damien blasts a fat spray of water—right into the pokémon’s face. Wincing at the impact, Brendan watches as the shroomish stumbles back, choking on excess water that must’ve entered its mouth. Damien, on the other hand, wastes no time.

_Crrack!_

Barreling headfirst into the shroomish, Damien pins it to the ground and pukes another column of water, his grip strong as the shroomish crashes and churns beneath him. 

Yanking out a pokéball from her backpack, May gets into a baseball pitcher’s position. “Damien, move!”

And with that, Damien flings himself off of the shroomish, his tail fin wagging like a propeller. Teeth gritting, Brendan bunched his shoulders as a red and white pokéball slams into the shroomish’s head with yet another _crack!_ , sealing him into the ball permanently after it shakes three times. Ouch. Dusting herself off, May puts on a smug look as she meanders on over towards the pokéball, scooping it up out of the dirt and wiping off any grime. Turning to face Brendan, she smiles, a hand on her hip.

“I did it!” she claims, marching on over towards her friend. As she reaches out one hand, Brendan hands her the Pokédex, tilting her head as she begins tapping away on it yet again. “Okay, so—he’s a male.” Nodding to herself, she brings up a textbox on the blue screen. “I think I’m gonna name him Norman.”

Brendan flushes. “Hey—”

“I’m kidding!” Giggling, May shoves the Pokédex back into her backpack. “It’s gonna be Norris.” Holding the pokéball up to her face, she beams, her smile so bright compared to the darkening world around them. “Didya hear that, little guy? You’re my friend now!”

A ghost of a smile materializing on his lips, Brendan brings his attention back down towards Athena, who brushes against his leg. He begins to move his foot to continue walking on, however, when May lightly pushes against his shoulder with her own. Eyes darting onto her, he inches away.

“When are you going to catch more pokémon?” she casually demands, attaching Norris’ pokéball to her backpack. “Athena can’t keep you going forever; you need the support.”

Brendan hesitates, his lips parting ever so slightly, only for him to relax and shrug. “I’m not planning on gyms or anything, so I don’t see the point.”

“She’s weak to so many types.”

“I mean, yeah—”

“You need help!”

Brendan exhales sharply, a hint of a smirk tugging on his lips as he brings his stare back down towards Athena. She gawks up at him expectantly, her head cocking to one angle as her chest feathers puff out. Does she even understand this conversation? Rubbing the back of his neck, Brendan lightly chuckles to himself, breaking the awkward silence.

“I don’t even have any pokéballs,” he mumbles, turning to face May once more.

Saying that was...probably a mistake, though.

With a grunt, Brendan stumbles back as a whole pile of pokéballs is shoved into his arms, some falling out of his grasp like slippery soap in the shower. Exasperated, he allows the rest to slip and slide their way out of his hands and onto the ground, following suit as he pulls his backpack off of his shoulders. He doesn’t even have to ask for permission to know that these are apparently now his; it’s pretty obvious, judging by May’s proud expression and giant smirk.

Stuffing the capsules into his backpack, he counts. One, two, three, four and five. Shoulders bunching together, he looks up at May.

“May, really, I don’t need _all_ of these,” he stammers out, his hand hesitant to drop the last one into his backpack. “I mean—a full team? At this rate you’re gonna force me to challenge a gym, too.”

May only hums, her eyes flickering up towards the air in a playful gesture as the world’s biggest poop-eating grin stretches across her cheeks. Without another word, Brendan exhales slowly, dropping the last pokéball into his bag and zipping it shut. He can’t really visualize a situation where he’s going to need them; chances are, he figures that he’s only going to be handing those back to May when she wants them. Those are the side effects of an unnecessarily rich friend, he guesses.

For a while after that, they hardly complete anything too important. Granted, if it was their goal to just be aimlessly meandering about the forest, then sure—they get five stars and a gold medal. But to be quite frank, Brendan still has zero clue as to what May plans to do. She continues checking bushes, pitting Damien against random pokémon and trainers, that kind of stuff, but that’s about where the excitement—if any—ends. It’s basically the bare minimum.

Who is he to complain, though? At least she isn’t running around and proclaiming herself as the new Tarzan while stripping off her shirt. (Ugh, even today he sometimes gets nightmares about that stupid incident.)

Finally, they take a breather for the night, May plopping herself down onto the grass in the middle of a clearing. Meticulously, Brendan follows by example, except this time he actually takes the time to check where he puts his bum. (He’ll never forget the searing agony from sitting on a durant hill.) Once the coast is clear, he settles, tucking his knees in close as Athena cuddles next to him. Urging his muscles not to react, he shifts his attention on over towards Damien, who’s too busy tormenting his own trainer over a treat to heckle Athena. That’s good, Brendan guesses; judging by the fact that Athena’s already dozing off, she needs a break.

The sun has already disappeared behind the horizon by now, hogging all of the light to leave way for the milky, dark sky. After a lackluster stretch, Brendan slides his backpack off of his shoulders and onto the ground. He can easily hear the humming of the occasional venomoth or dustox, the gentle _thwumps_ of a beautifly’s wings, the creaking of kricketots; they’re all singing a song of some sort, serenading to the stars. While Athena inches closer to Brendan, her feathers fluffing out and breathing gentle, Brendan lies his head on top of his backpack, wincing at the hard surface. Lightly patting Athena’s head, he hesitates a bit, noticing the warmth emanating off of her as if it was still daytime. 

Closing his eyes, he breathes in, allowing the strangely comforting presence lull him to sleep.

—◈—

It seems as if the morning desperately wants to be quadruple times worse than the day prior.

The bugs haven’t gotten any quieter, either; now they’re—figuratively—blasting their songs on a full-volume speaker, making sure the whole forest knows of their concert. The air is sticky, moist—clinging onto Brendan’s soggy clothes and skin like a toddler with separation anxiety. Ripping himself away from his backpack, Brendan groans, tugging on the collar of his shirt as he glares daggers up at the sky above them. It’s not too late, probably around nine or ten.

Once the group has finished eating breakfast, and the sun continues to shyly tiptoe its way towards the top of the sky, a foreign cluster of hiccuping footsteps enters the area. Stiffening at the crunching of leaves and twigs, Brendan whips his head around, lifting his chin when his eyes land on a younger man—probably in his mid-twenties—donning a stark white lab coat and pearly glasses. A nerdy excuse of a person wandering around in the middle of Petalburg Woods, but oh well. Dusting off his shirt, Brendan lifts himself to his feet.

“Excuse me?” the stranger finally squeaks once he’s close enough, his hands glued to a black briefcase. “I’m from the Devon Corporation, my name’s Neville.” Brendan can’t tell if he relaxes at this, or only grows more tense; May perks up. Neville looks behind him, fidgets with his glasses, then shakes his attention back towards the two. “I’ve been looking for a particular pokémon—uhm...it’s called shroomish?”

May glances at Brendan, tilting her head. Frowning, Brendan bobs his head side to side, but May completely ignores that and puts on a beaming smile that shines brighter than the sun itself, then turns to face Neville. Rolling his eyes, Brendan slouches. 

“Well, you’re in luck!” May’s voice booms louder than literally anything in the forest, too, causing both Brendan and Neville to flinch. “I found one earlier. Want me to show you where I got him?”

Of course, Neville wholeheartedly agrees, and with that, May grabs her backpack and Damien, skipping along the way. Brendan and Athena begrudgingly trail after her, Athena’s steps lagging just a pinch from grogginess. It’s at this point when Brendan notices something: a very distinct _CHAMPION_ scrawled over a side of the briefcase in some form of white marker. Is that briefcase for Steven Stone or something? Pressing his lips together, Brendan glances back at Athena, before bringing his gaze towards the two in front of him. There’s...no way he’d be in Petalburg Woods, of all places.

For a few minutes, the group remains quiet, before Neville decides to fidget once more and looks around anxiously, leaning close towards May. Eyebrows furrowing and lips tightening, Brendan quickens his pace, moving himself right next to May (yet if he had a choice, he’d be between May and Neville). Straining his ears, he listens to the brisk conversation that ensues, momentarily forgetting all about Athena.

“Actually, I don’t need a shroomish,” Neville whispers after a big pause, fiddling with the handle on the briefcase. “I just wanted to avoid the Team Magma thug that was following me around.”

Brendan’s heart leaps off a cliff, plunging into icy cold waters.

May stops dead in her tracks, eyes wide as she gawks at Brendan. She exhales slowly, then shakily drawls: “And...is the Team Magma person gone now?”

Neville shrugs, eerily halfheartedly. “I didn’t check—”

A piercing shriek explodes across the forest, shivers ricocheting down Brendan’s spine. Athena. Turning heel, Brendan sprints away from the group and towards the source of the cry, his feet a blur as they pound against the grass. Stumbling to a halt, the breath in his lungs is snatched away as he stares at a scrappy poochyena pinning Athena to the ground, teeth bared and slobber dripping onto her. Vision clouded with red, Brendan marches forward, ready to punt this dumb poochyena into oblivion, but a blob of blue beats him to it, tackling the dog away. Scooping the earthquake-like mess that is Athena into his arms, Brendan backs away, muscles twitching as Damien shoots a water gun right into the poochyena’s eyes.

“Keep going, Damien!” May barks, tripping next to Brendan. Panting, she moves to touch Athena’s forehead as Neville meekly positions himself on the other side of Brendan. “Oh, poor honey; she’s freezing.”

Brendan bends over a little, hugging Athena close. But she isn’t cold—she’s warm. Very warm. Gulping, Brendan flits his stare up onto the poochyena, who’s backing away from Damien with feeble whimpers. Hissing and spitting, Damien snarls, hackles raised as he shoots another blast of water right above the mutt’s head. Despite the dog’s cries as it tries to melt away into a tree, Damien readies another spray, but then— 

“Tackle, Numel.”

A sturdy, muscular pokémon zooms into view, throwing Damien away from the poochyena. What follows the pokémon is a man caked in red, a hood flipped over his messy black hair. A bright, evident logo is plastered all over his chest, screaming its name:

Team Magma.

“Poochyena, bite,” the criminal growls, and after a quick second the mutt obliges, leaping after Damien and sinking its dagger-sharp teeth into his shoulder. As Damien thrashes about, screaming and kicking and barfing random sprays of water guns, the Team Magma grunt faces the humans, expression so cold that the hot, sticky air suddenly feels like a Sinnoh tundra. “How many times do I have to ask you? Give me that briefcase.”

Almost immediately, Neville squeaks, pressing his shoulder against Brendan’s. It takes all of Brendan’s self-control to not push him away.

“It—it doesn’t belong to you!” Neville whimpers, stomping a foot. “The information inside this briefcase is specifically reserved for the Champion—”

The grunt sighs, waving a profane gesture to cut him off. “Numel, flame burst.”

A column of fire strikes at Neville’s knees, causing him to cry out and slam into the ground, writhing from the pain. Even though him falling has put the fire out, Brendan can’t help but shudder as he notices the pitch black aftertaste of the attack, staining the attire beneath his lab coat permanently. And when the Team Magma criminal stalks forward, May elbows Brendan.

“Do something!” she hisses, gesturing towards Athena.

The thug snorts, tearing the briefcase away from Neville’s grasp. “What, you think Steven Stone would care about Groudon?” he taunts, shoving it under his arm. Brendan steps forward, shoulders bunching together, but the criminal pays no mind. “He’s a steel type user; he’d much rather forget that such a god exists.”

Brendan stiffens, his eyes falling towards Athena. She’s all fluffed up, glowering at the poochyena that continues to battle Damien. Last time he’s seen her battle, she didn’t even do a thing—how can he expect her to save them now? But May shoves him once more, making him drop Athena onto the grass. Remembering the pink-haired Team Magma lady from before, he gulps.

“Athena, ember that numel,” he says, his voice articulate and steady despite the occasional shake. Staring up at him, she blinks, her beak gaping open. Brendan hugs his arms, feeling the heat of the Team Magma criminal burn onto him. “Athena, please…”

May pushes Brendan again, her teeth gritting together. “Just karate kick the dude!” 

“Don’t make me send out my geodude,” the criminal warns flatly. “Numel, magnitude it.”

The numel obeys without a second thought, rearing up on its hind legs before slamming its front ones into the ground. A small army of rocks protruding from its hooves and into the earth, the attack shakily rushes towards Athena and slashes her front. Squeaking, Athena stumbles back, pressing into Brendan’s legs and trembling more than the attack itself. Her chest is dirty, a slight hint of red seeping from behind the feathers. Eyes flickering up, Brendan gapes in sheer horror as the poochyena fighting Damien overcomes the mudkip, slamming him into the ground. Damien can’t bring himself to fight, only chirp frustratingly and thump his tail against the ground. The Team Magma criminal smirks, sauntering away. The numel shoves itself into Athena’s face, growling and threatening another flame burst, only to back off when Brendan lightly kicks the numel away. As the poochyena slides off of Damien and bounds after its trainer, Damien scurries towards May, a limp in his step.

Of course, this is when Brendan would’ve finally decided to chase the man so he can beat him into a pulp, and he’s pretty tempted, but he hesitates when a massive onix materializes right in front of the Team Magma criminal. 

Eyes wide and mouth gaping open, Brendan gawks in awe as the massive creature slides itself around the criminal and his pokémon trapping them in its grasp. To make things even more surprising, a young female hops her way from behind the onix and heaves over the rocks and bends down to rip the briefcase away from the thug. Sliding off, she stomps right on over to Neville, fury ablaze in her eyes. Brendan can’t help but stiffen as he recognizes her massive pigtails, her short stature; Roxanne, gym leader of Rustboro City. 

“Do you realize how much trouble you’re in?” Roxanne demands, keeping the briefcase away from Neville’s needy hands. “When Mr. Stone—as in Devon—called that you just...went to Petalburg Woods with this briefcase, and that a Team Magma grunt was following you—” she exhales sharply, her face flushing a strawberry red—“oh, Devon was pissed.”

Neville wilts, his skin fading to a ghostly white. “B-but...I was told that Steven Stone would be here.”

“By a Team Magma grunt!” With an exasperated sigh, Roxanne slaps her hand to her face, shaking her head. Then, she lifts her features, catching the eyes of Brendan and May. Frowning, she huffs. “What, now you’re forcing random kids to help you out, too?” 

May steps forward, offering a sheepish smile. “Sorry, we _wanted_ to help him out! Right, Brendan?” Eyes flickering to Brendan, she stretches her smile, her eyes glaring daggers. Brendan briskly nods, bending down to pick up Athena. “Mhm—see?”

Roxanne only blinks, turning around to face her onix. With a snap of her fingers, the onix releases the Team Magma grunt. 

“You’ll pay for this!” the criminal howls, but he pales as onix shoves its face into his, growling; Brendan doesn’t have the greatest eyesight, but he could’ve sworn the Team Magma grunt peed his pants. Either way, the hint seems to have been taken, and the man bolts off in a frantic, crazed state. 

“You’re just gonna let him go?” Brendan asks, his tone as cold as a glacier. “He’s a criminal.”

Roxanne shrugs, facing them once more. “I don’t have the legal authority to arrest people. Plus, almost every officer in Hoenn is rushing towards Dewford right now; apparently something happened.” Shifting around, she glances at the briefcase, ignoring the anger oozing off of Brendan. “Look, I’d love to stay and chat, but I got things to do—”

“I wanna challenge your gym!” May exclaims, straightening her posture.

Roxanne stares at her, a bewildered expression on her features. Then after a quick glance back to the briefcase, she shrugs, digging into her skirt’s pocket and handing a brown ticket to May. “If it makes you leave me alone for now, sure. Be there at six.”

Without another word, Roxanne storms away, her onix slithering behind her before being sucked into its pokéball.

—◈—

Five minutes until the match.

Five minutes, and May paces the waiting room restlessly, her brown eyes flickering to the window that shows off the battle floor ahead of them, then darting to Damien, before finally deciding that the floor is a good spot. Seated in one of the hard, plastic chairs, Brendan sighs, one hand gently patting Athena as she snuggles in closer on his lap. Within a few moments, Athena is already fast asleep, warm to the touch.

Earlier, when the two got to Rustboro, May transformed into a category five hurricane as soon as she stepped onto the city’s sidewalks; she was throwing herself everywhere, first rushing to the PokéCenter and then flying back to Petalburg Woods to train. While Damien has more or less healed pretty dang good from the incident earlier, all thanks to the fast technology at the hospital, a few cuts are still laced across his blue frame. Nothing that should harm him, though—that’s what the nurse said. Whether or not May believes her, well...that’s a different story.

“What if we lose?” May suddenly stammers, ripping Brendan away from his mind. “I mean—there’s three rounds to this battle. Round one has a geodude, I can handle that. Round two another geodude, except stronger. I can handle that.” Rolling his eyes, Brendan smirks a little, leaning against the back of the chair. “Round three, though? Nosepass.”

May spits out that pokémon’s name with extensive amounts of malice, as if the pokémon has done her wrong in the past. It hasn’t, though; all of the nosepass Mr. Birch has studied in the past have been the most gentle pokémon to ever live. 

“You’ll do great,” Brendan promises, keeping an eye on the clock. Two more minutes. “Damien’s strong, isn’t he close to evolving?”

“Very close.” Rubbing her hands together, May cracks her knuckles. “It’s just—that fight earlier. What if he hasn’t healed all the way?”

Brendan blinks. “The nurse said he did.” May scowls, throwing her hands to her sides. “I’m sure Damien’s okay.”

“Easy for you to say!” Whipping around, May gestures towards the torchic, her voice attracting the eyes of several onlookers. “All Athena got was some dumb scratch. Damien got hurt because your torchic didn’t do a thing!”

Brendan flinches, the words scraping across his body. Face flushing a hint of red, he pulls Athena closer, who’s now stirring groggily at the commotion.

“How is it my fault?” he retorts, trying his best to keep his voice low. “May, you’re supposed to help _your_ mudkip.”

One more minute.

Snarling, May crosses her arms, tapping her foot against the tiled floor. “Yeah, okay—sure. Because you couldn’t have just, I don’t know, kicked the dude. Nope, you _totally_ didn’t take taekwondo for twelve years. Nope.” Rolling her eyes, she snorts out a robotic laugh, one that sends needles into Brendan’s skin. “Because Brendan here cares so much about his friend, huh?”

Wincing at the harsh words, Brendan drops his eyes, tucking his knees closer. The ticking of the clock seems to slow in this moment, as if it’s enjoying the awkward silence that fills the air. Even the onlookers avert their attention elsewhere, deciding to pay mind to the battlefield outside of the room.

Finally: “May Magnolia Birch, please come to the battlefield.”

It’s time.

Slowly, Brendan lifts his misty eyes, biting his lip as May ushers Damien towards the door. “Good luck.”

She opens the door, sighs, then steps out without another word, closing it with a thud. Wrestling his fingers together, Brendan remains rooted in his spot, before giving in and scooting his chair towards the window. Squinting, he peers through the thick glass, studying the arena.

Trainers aren’t allowed anywhere near or on the field, he’s noted. High above the floor are trainer boxes on opposite ends, designed to keep battlers safe from any pokémon’s attacks. Even though Roxanne’s gym is typically reserved for the newcomers, therefore the battles aren’t as violent as they can be, Brendan nervously notices large bite and claw marks scraping across the outer metal shell of some of May’s own box. (Probably from Roxanne’s onix, no doubt.)

At first, it’s dark, but when Roxanne sends out her geodude, the arena becomes a blinding mess. A tiny blob of blue bounces into view, tail wagging as he positions himself on the opposite end of the field. A countdown booms on the stereo: _three, two, one...start!_

Without missing a single beat, Damien performs something that Brendan’s convinced he’s born to do: charge. 

Legs a blue blur, Damien bounds straight for the geodude and sends a powerful water attack its way, landing right on the geodude’s face. But it shakes the attack off, raising a fist and slamming it into Damien’s side—only to get another water gun in the face. Just like that, the opponent goes down, and out comes another geodude. But something is...off, so to speak, about the pokémon. Roxanne can’t seem to tell the geodude what to do, and a pause stretches on as Damien backs away from his opponent, hackles raised when the geodude positions itself right by a wall.

And then the geodude explodes.

And then an army of red-and-black soldiers pour into the field from the hole the chopped up pokémon made.

Leaping to his feet (and ignoring Athena’s protest as she flops to the floor), Brendan presses his palms against the window, mouth gaping open as a large array of Team Magma grunts invade the battlefield, sending out their pokémon and, horrifyingly enough, a surplus of geodude that explode as soon as they’re out of their pokéballs. Heart bursting out of his chest and stomach twisting into a knot, Brendan rushes towards the door, ready to kick and punch his way through the crowd to get to May. However, it doesn’t take much longer for some Team Magma grunts to find their way into the lobby and waiting room of the gym, digging through whatever cabinet or drawer they can find. Are they really _that_ desperate for some dumb briefcase?

And then—

“Target acquired.”

Whipping around, Brendan shoves his back against the wall, eyes wide as a familiar pink-haired lady and her combusken stalk their way towards him, akin to a persian hunting its rattata. Stiffening, Brendan shoves his leg in front of Athena, blocking her from the eyes of the combusken and his trainer; they’ve already seen her, though. 

“You took it!” the lady mockingly gasps. “What, you two decided you were perfect for each other?”

Mind racing and palms clammy, Brendan raises his fists, but meekly—he can’t see himself surviving this. And, as if on cue, the combusken rushes forward and readies itself for a slash straight to Brendan’s leg, just like last time.

The attack doesn’t miss, as expected. Holding back a cry, Brendan weakens, knees bending as a new hole is torn into his jeans. Blood dripping onto the tile, he tries to remain rooted, not budging a single bit. (His brain begs and pleads for him to kick, however, yet his muscles have decided otherwise.)

The pink-haired lady growls. “Slash again, combusken!”

Rushing into the air, the combusken aims for a slash straight to Brendan’s stomach.

Until a small burst of flames collides right with the chicken’s chest, causing it to stumble back.

Not daring to waste a single second, Brendan scoops up the proud Athena and races past the combusken, his eyes set on the front doors of the gym. The pink-haired attempts to grab Brendan, but he extends his arm out with a squeak, forcing her back. 

By the time he’s out of the gym, his entire body is on autopilot, racing right out of the city and back into Petalburg Woods as if he’s running for the Olympics. As blood oozes out of the new wound on his leg, the pain finally strikes, ricocheting across his entire frame as he trips to a slow halt. Gasping, he lets Athena hop out of his arms, but she remains close, chirping nervously as he flops down onto the grass. Pressing his palm against his leg, he cringes, not even having the energy to react to the sound of footsteps and fluttering wings grow near.

“Need help, sport?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This beat is finally up oh my Lord.
> 
> Let’s just say, I really wanted to write this chapter, but at the same time it was really hard to write. A good exercise for a faster-paced chapter, I guess?
> 
> Honestly, it might seem rushed; that’s because it is. I’ll admit that I wrote most of it in one sitting. Not proud of myself there but hey, I’ve learned to do better in the future.
> 
> Well, anyways—I hope you guys like this chapter!! (And no, I didn’t forget about face-claims. I’m still stuck on finding one for May, ooops.)

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo potatoes, thanks for clicking on this!
> 
> Unfortunately, I have lost all original inspiration and muse for this fic. There are four chapters of this completed, however I just don’t feel the spark I once had with this fic. I’m planning on redoing it in a more...Pokemon-like way (which includes having characters at the right ages), so bear with me.
> 
> Even though this is—and forever will be—unfinished, I’m glad you guys checked it out. It means a lot to me <3


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